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Poster: high flow Date: Oct 3, 2007 1:28pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: 40 Yrs Gone

Woodrow
Tom Russell

When people twist your words, Woodrow, ah, they'll twist at every whim

It's thugs that run the unions now and use your songs like hymns

Once, your music danced on women's thighs and the arch of a hobo's

brow- ow

Aw, Mrs. Guthrie look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now


Oh, the trains leave every morning, some go east and some go west

And the clacking of the iron is the sound you love the best

It's the great escape from railroad bulls and the Coney Island girl s

Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown eyed boy with curls


Sing the truth, scream it loud

Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now



All those boxcars full of Chinese junk, the caboose has been junk piled

And we're all buying g roceries now from men with crooked smiles

You were a drunken, wild mis ogyneer and your politics were crud e

As you sat home writing nursery rhymes and drawing women nude


And all those politicians breaths stink bad, be they left or be they

right

And the ones who play with rhetoric are not the ones to fight

Don't go coming 'round here, Woodrow, they'll stretch you from a rope

And your corpse won't ever find a bar where a man can drink and smoke

Repeat Chorus

Did you hear the scre en door sl am, Ma, Woodrow' s gone again

He's writin' obscene letters now, the Feds might bring him in


But every song he ever wrote is hangin' on the bree ze

With the l aundry in the Guthrie yard full of Hunting ton's dis ease


So, Woodrow, rest in peace, old pal, there ain't nothin' for you here

We're in the scrub oak country now, the land of dread an' fear

And whitey's in the wood pile and the writing's on the wall

But your ring of truth still echoes down the Greystone clinic hall

Repeat Chorus


So here's to all outsiders, all the ones who could not fit

The troubadour, the prisoners, the drunken Ind ian

Ah, the circus freaks, the wounded lovers will make it through someh ow

Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, we are ridin' blind with your brown eyed baby now


Sing the truth scream it loud

Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown-eyed baby now

Sing the truth, scream it l oud

Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, look w hat we done to your brown-eyed b aby n ow

END

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Poster: cush212 Date: Oct 3, 2007 1:39pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: 40 Yrs Gone

Very nice HF... Made me a little misty...

:)

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Poster: William Tell Date: Oct 3, 2007 7:59pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: 40 Yrs Gone

Hey Cush! You misty eyed old bastard...in a good way.

Nice to see you again. A Cush sighting is always a good thing.

Hope you still have a chance now and again to play the 68 shows from the CLIFFSTER'S boxed set that came your way...let me know if they all worked out.

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Poster: high flow Date: Oct 3, 2007 1:48pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: 40 Yrs Gone

Hey Cushy! Yes, that song is off the Tom Russell album Hotwalker.


I love this song. Just reading the lyrics give me goose-bumps.


This post was modified by high flow on 2007-10-03 20:48:20

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Poster: JodyC Date: Oct 3, 2007 2:59pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: 40 Yrs Gone

That Hotwalker blew me away. I think HF sent that to me-thanks.

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Poster: bluedevil Date: Oct 3, 2007 1:54pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: 40 Yrs Gone

Christmas In Washington
(Steve Earle)
It's Christmastime in Washington
The Democrats rehearsed
Gettin' into gear for four more years
Things not gettin' worse
The Republicans drink whiskey neat
And thanked their lucky stars
They said, 'He cannot seek another term
They'll be no more FDRs'
I sat home in Tennessee
Staring at the screen
With an uneasy feeling in my chest
And I'm wonderin' what it means

Chorus:
So come back Woody Guthrie
Come back to us now
Tear your eyes from paradise
And rise again somehow
If you run into Jesus
Maybe he can help you out
Come back Woody Guthrie to us now

I followed in your footsteps once
Back in my travelin' days
Somewhere I failed to find your trail
Now I'm stumblin' through the haze
But there's killers on the highway now
And a man can't get around
So I sold my soul for wheels that roll
Now I'm stuck here in this town

Chorus

There's foxes in the hen house
Cows out in the corn
The unions have been busted
Their proud red banners torn
To listen to the radio
You'd think that all was well
But you and me and Cisco know
It's going straight to hell

So come back, Emma Goldman
Rise up, old Joe Hill
The barracades are goin' up
They cannot break our will
Come back to us, Malcolm X
And Martin Luther King
We're marching into Selma
As the bells of freedom ring